“Escape” Chapter 1
by jonasfeit7
Summary: A former Overseer and a little girl with the mark of the Outsider must escape north. This is based off a short story I wroted a few years back called Escape which I originally published here. I got some good feedback so I decided to give it another shot. Please read it as it provides some clarity to this.


Chapter 1

Peadar squinted through the darkness, his eyes fixed firmly on the heap of rags huddled in the corner of the damp cell. Any sign of movement would do. A slight turn of the head perhaps, a weak cough, or even a labored breath would confirm that the heretic held in cell 23 was still alive. Peadar waited, lifting the mask of the Overseer from his face for a better view, but the lump was silent and still. "Damn it," Peadar thought to himself as he fumbled in his pocket for the key to unlock the cell. The barred door was heavy, and swung open with a loud and painful groan. Peadar hesitated with the door ajar. There was now nothing that separated himself from the heap inside. The heap did not look so dangerous, so he cautiously took a step inside. As he approached the heap, Peadar glanced around the cell. It was small; smaller than it seemed from the outside, and the stone walls were damp and rough. There was no window, none of the cells in the compound had any. Peadar was told that servants of the shadows did not deserve to see the light. He could not help but wonder, however, how it must be like for the heap, sitting in this dark cell all day, everyday, with only an errant mind for company. One could easily lose track of their sanity within these walls. Peadar caught his mind drifting and snapped back to attention. A wandering mind can easily fall victim to the Outsider. Peadar found himself standing over the heap, and due to his close proximity could see that it was indeed human. The man was laying on his side, facing the wall, with long greasy black hair and an unkempt beard to match. His figure suggested he was a strong man, a dockworker or miner perhaps, but now he was unnaturally thin. Peadar gave him a firm prod in the back with his boot. The man rolled slightly onto his stomach, but made no move to get back up. "Hello?" Peadar asked pointlessly. The man was dead, of course, the second today by his counting. With a sigh, Peadar turned to exit the cell. He did not bother locking the door on the way out.

When Peadar passed the trials and was allowed to join the Abbey of the Everyman, he was only 16, young and hungry for fame or glory, preferably both. He was still a young man, but he was no longer so blind. Stationed not far from his home town in Morley, at the Abbey's prison compound in Caulkenny, he was told that he would be responsible for watching over heretics and those who have been caught worshipping the outsider. It was an important job, a noble one. Peadar soon found that this could not be further from the truth. To label the people held in these dark, windowless cells as heretics was a stretch, if not a straight lie. They were those of the lower class, with no money to their names, snatched from their homes or the streets and tossed here without further thought. The lucky ones may live long enough to be burned or hung, a painful yet relatively quick death. The others die of starvation. And so here Peadar found himself. Twice a day, everyday, he was to walk down the row of cells, checking all 52 of them for surviving inhabitants. Those that were alive, he would toss a measly half loaf of bread through the bars for their meal. Peadar now held the bread he would have given to the man in cell 23 in his hands. Quickly, he hid it in the folds of his black Overseer uniform. He would be eating that later.

As Peadar moved to check the next cell, he was greeted by a group of three Overseers a short way down the row, marching swiftly toward him. Their matching grey masked scowled at him as they approached. The Overseer leading the pack held up his fist in salute and greeting. "Brother!" Peadar recognized the voice as Doyle, one of the boys who he had suffered through the trials with. Peadar straightened his back and stood at attention. "Brother, I was just checking on cell-"

"Peadar," Doyle cut him off, "why are you not wearing your mask? You would have these heretics gaze upon your bare face?"

Peadar flinched slightly, realizing he had forgotten to put his mask back on. "Apologies Doyle, I was trying to get a better look at the prisoner in cell 23, you know how difficult it can be to see in this darkness." Peadar hastily put his mask back over his face. "You know the rules as well as anyone, it is foolish to be without your mask. You are lucky we are friends, do not fear I will not report you. Don't do it again," Doyle said firmly. Peadar hated Doyle. During their trials, he had proven himself to be unusually cruel, and had a talent for violence. As such, he rose quickly through the ranks, reaching Officer in under a year. "Of course, brother," Peadar replied, his voice now muffled slightly by the mask. There was silence for a second, then Doyle began to speak again. "We have apprehended another who worships the outsider. This one appears to have the mark about her. We came to ask you if there are any free cells. It is important to keep her separated from the others." Doyle took a step aside to reveal the girl hidden behind him. She was small, no older than seven or eight, with dark brown hair hanging over her bruised face. She was hanging limply in chains, held upright by the other two Overseers who he did not recognize. Doyle noticed him looking at her face. "She tried to run, it was futile," he explained, pointing at her swollen face. Peadar tried to control the outrage bubbling up inside him. "Brother, she is only a child. Are you sure about this?" Doyle stood a little straighter, giving Peadar the impression that his words had just offended him. "Of course I am sure! Look at her hand! She has the mark, clear as day." Peadar's eyes strayed to her right hand. It was hard to see through the eyes of the mask, but Peadar had no trouble noticing the strange mark on her hand. He looked back up at Doyle, who began to speak again. "First I see you without your mask, and now here you stand questioning my reason. Be careful Peadar, my patience is running thin. I will not ask you again, is there a cell that is free in which we can store this heretic?" Peadar knew he had made a mistake, and answered quickly. "Yes brother, cell 23 is free. I found the previous inhabitant dead inside." Peadar could not see Doyle's face, but knew he was pleased with this response. "Wonderful, we shall keep her in here then. She could be dangerous, I will make sure to schedule her execution for tomorrow. Until then, watch her closely, and be sure to sound the alarm if she makes any attempts to free herself." Doyle motioned at the other two, who haphazardly threw the unconscious little girl into the cell, dragging the body with them on their way out. Again, Peadar controlled himself, something which he had practiced all too much. Peadar felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Doyle standing close to him. He leaned towards Peadar, speaking directly into his ear. "Watch her, brother," Doyle whispered so that the other two he had brought with him could not hear his words. "She has the mark. The real mark. I know it. If the stories are true, she posses powers derived from the void. Be careful and remain true to the seven strictures, brother." Peadar felt an inkling of fear at these whispered words. Doyle took a step back, holding his right fist up in farewell. Peadar did the same, and the three Overseers turned and began to march away.

Peadar hesitated for a moment, then turned to take a second look at the little girl. She lay there, on the damp stone ground, unmoving, yet he could clearly see the rise and fall of her small chest. She was sentenced to die, like thousands before her, and tomorrow she would be burned at the stake. Maybe it was the way that she lay there in the mud of her cell, peaceful and innocent. Or maybe Peadar had seen too many like her die, scared and alone, at the hands of Overseers just like him. The doubt had always been there in the very back of his mind, as hard as he might try to deny it. But this was more than just doubt. Something in him had snapped, and Peadar began to plan his heresy.


End file.
